Murmurs

Ok, what have I just seen? Really no idea. At the pre-performance drinks party (one of whose attendees was Alan Yentob, so a pretty arty party)  one woman said I would "find it weird, but not weird weird". Well I suspect there is a fine line between "weird weird" and mere "weird". And I felt this crossed into the "weird weird". I guess its a pretty subjective concept.

Ok, here goes, I will try and convey something. This falls into the genre of physical theatre. At the Queen Elizabeth Hall  on the South Bank. So there was dance (mostly of the ballet type) and slapstick, and illusions, and a bit of sort of puppetry, and clever visual tricks, and a lot of dressing up. But no narrative (or speech) that I could detect. It wasn't boring, but I did spend the latter part of it hoping someone would tell us when it ended because there would be no way of telling. It just stopped.

Really the only word for it was surreal. And I had rather thought surrealism had disappeared as a fashionable art form some time between the wars. Very well done, and very clever, the three main protagonists - two blokes and a girl - were clearly very talented in their movements - think Nureyev crossed with Charlie Chaplin. And its all original - at one point there was a beast created out of a ladder and copious quantities of bubble wrap. Yes, you had to be there. I was, but still not sure what it was all about.

White Lies at Wembley

Having survived the office party for another year, it was to Wembley I went to see my last gig of the year.

Actually the office party was a pretty tame affair. (I know what you are thinking. You would expect a group of pension lawyers to go pretty wild at a party wouldn't you? But no, not really. Best part was watching one of our partners flirting with both our cute Italian waitress AND the French waiter. He is such a metro sexual.) It was held at in painfully trendy Shoreditch at Beach Club Babylon, a rather nice venue, if not quite as Bohemian as it tries to pretend. http://www.beachblanket.co.uk/shoreditch/index.html

But back to Wembley on a bitterly cold night. Was great when they finally let us in only half an hour after the tickets said doors would open! This is, I should say Wembley Arena, not the stadium. A stadium gig in December would be too awful to contemplate.

Not a sell-out, competing with last shopping Saturday before Christmas and the final of Strictly Come Dancing, but more because White Lies are not (yet at least) that well known a band. But a decent enough crowd anyway.

It probably should tell me that I go to too many gigs as I had seen not only the headline act but both the supports before too. But then the bloke at the front I was standing next to had seen the whole lot 3 times on this tour in the last week. That's keen. I am not worthy. (But then he did have a beard.)

Anyway, first off were the Chevin. I had seen them supporting the Pigeon Detectives last month, and remain very impressed by them, although they looked a little lost on such a big stage.

The Duke Spirit I had actually gone to see as a headline act themselves a few years ago. Their formula of sexy blond singer backed by anonymous blokes pounding on guitars and drums behind has of course been successfully carried off before. She certainly has a powerful enough voice (needed to overcome the rock guitar backing), but its a little harsh to my tastes. And they have never come up with a memorable song to my ears. I feel if they were going to make it they would have done so by now.

So onto the main course, White Lies. Their portentous music is I am afraid very much my thing - following in a line of bands I have liked - Joy Division, Interpol, Editors. The style suits a stadium, and they did occupy the stage rather well. They have got to that pleasant stage (for a gig-going fan) of having completed that difficult second album, with no loss of quality from the first. So, unlike say the Vaccines who I had seen earlier  in the month who were fine but basically had to eke out all the material they had after only one album, White Lies could play a long set with everything sounding good.

 

And of course now headlining a big stadium, you can go with the pyrotechnics too. And the ticker-tape stuff at the end.

So yes, a much better way of spending an evening than watching Strictly Come Dancing. Call me old-fashioned, but I would rather watch a rock drummer drumming, than watching him do the Tango, however good Harry Judd may be at Latin American dancing. Horses for courses?

The Ordinary Boys

Fame is a mixed blessing I guess.

Wednesday night after work I pootled up the road from my office to go to the Islington Academy to see the Ordinary Boys. This is a somewhat smaller venue than my normal haunts and indeed I struggled to find it. I circumnavigated a small shopping centre off Upper Street only to realise the venue was right in the middle of it. Or probably more accurately, under it. Anyway, I hadn't booked in advance although had checked it wasn't sold out. That's the blessing (from a punter's viewpoint) of an act not being that famous, or at least its moment of fame having rather passed. (Contrast my efforts to get tickets to see Coldplay over the internet some weeks ago at the Emirates where whole blocks were selling out in front of my eyes. Its ok - I succeeded in the end - review will appear here next Easter!)

However, the Ordinary Boys, or rather their lead singer Preston, did indeed have a brush with fame of the tabloid variety. For one year he decided to go on Celebrity Big Brother. Now as we all know, no celebrities go on celebrity reality shows, only wannabees and hasbeens. Preston was clearly in the former category. I dodn't recognise him when I saw pictures of that year's housemates, and by that time I had already seen him twice in concert!

Anyway, he ended up having an affair with one of the other non-entities, a blond air-head called Chantelle (Think Katie Price with a lower bra size. I wouldn't want to call the comparison on brain cells - there is a point where numbers become so low as to be statistically meaningless.) And as these things tend to go their very public relationship (with book deals) filled the tabloids until they unsurprisingly split up very shortly afterwards (Think Katie Price....yeah you are ahead of me).

Now all publicity is good publicity they say. Well not always. And if you are lead singer of an indie band you are supposed to have some credibility. Which Preston's little side project cost him I would suggest.

Which is a pity as I liked the Ordinary Boys. And still do. Preston is a charismatic and good-looking lead (barring armfuls of unsightly tattoos) with a strong voice and great energy. He could do with a bigger stage (literally in this case as he bounded round the limited space like a caged tiger). The intimacy of the gig made it so much more enjoyable. I was, as is my wont, right at the front, and the front was very close to the stage. The lead singer of the first support act (The Brassic - very listenable) admitted he had actually bought a ticket for the gig before he had been invited to play at it. And indeed later on he appeared a few yards from me in the audience.

And Preston early on said the set would concentrate on their first album. "Because it was the good one" he admitted wryly, recognising the downward slope of his career. But it was a great set, starting up with a rousing rendition of their debut album title track, Over the Counter Culture, and straight into the second track, the List Goes On (which contains some of my favourite pop lines "Radio play just depresses me today. Originality is so passe").

I quite like bands who do the odd cover version, and they cover both the Buzzcocks and the Specials, two very dissimilar bands. So all in all a good night. Trouble is the music is rather "geezerish" and so does rather attract a geezer audience. And you wouldn't really want to spend a night with the geezers who would go to Millwall games (and I say that when one of my best mates is a Millwall fan!)

Noises Off

Farce isn't my most favoured art form. When it comes to theatre I prefer a play with acerbic wit rather than trousers round ankles. And Noises Off is really the ultimate farce, being a farce about a farce. Nevertheless, it was great fun of course, and one can't help but be impressed by the sheer complexity of the plot in front of one.

If you haven't seen it, Act 1 is the dress rehearsal of a play about to tour provincial theatres. So the director keeps popping up out of the audience to correct things on stage. This play is, as I say, a farce, with the customary scatty housekeeper (played by Celia Imre, the one real name in the cast), two couples both in search of a bit of illicit nookie in a house they shouldn't be in, and an elderly deaf alcoholic actor playing a burglar. So in this rehearsal we get to see not only the play, but also find out who is having affairs with whom amongst the cast (and back stage crew). And the farce has all the elements one would expect, numerous doors which the various actors go in and out of, miraculously never coming across each other until the denouement. And trousers falling down. Of course.

Now for the clever bit. Act 2 is the same play again, but now as a matinee in some godforsaken litle theatre in front of the local OAPs. Except now we see it in reverse. We see the backstage. So while our actors go off through the doors and we can hear the dialogue, we see the backstage shenanigans, with the now feuding cast. But this is all now physical theatre as they can't raise their voices backstage. So its one long mime act with various things being thrown around at each other and a constant theme of keeping a bottle of scotch hidden from the alcoholic burglar.

For Act 3 we are back at the front on one of the last nights of the run. But now relationships have broken down completely and so does the play. So having got used to what the plot was (having effectively seen it twice) we now see it all going wrong in the third run through. One of the clever devices was having one actor trying to improvise as various props are not where they are supposed to be or where actors fail to turn up on cue, while his young female co-star resolutely refuses to leave script whatever happens. So, for example she will cry out that her bag has disappeared, notwithstanding that it was there for all to see.

Anyway, you have to see it to enjoy it. Great light fun for Christmas and we certainly enjoyed it. But rapier like wit? Well no. Another night maybe.

Greenwich

Saturday being bright and sunny, with storms forecast for later, I thought I would take advantage of the nice crisp day with a trip to Greenwich on the Docklands Light Railway, which serving East London as it does, I rarely get to use. And didn't this time either as I found the whole DLR was out due to engineering works. Replacement bus is just not the same. Undaunted I took a round about trip via a couple of overground trains.

An inauspicious start, but Greenwich, for those who don't know it, is quite special for a number of reasons. It was one of those places that grew up separately before being engulfed by London. It has a fine set of historic vernacular brick houses, before one even gets to the main points of architectural interest, the Royal Naval College, the Queens House and the Royal Observatory (more on these anon). But to start here are some the more mundane houses, although these do include the home of Benjamin Waugh (founder of the NSPCC), McCartney House (no not London residence of Paul, but of General Wolfe) and the Ranger's House (which was the home of the Ranger of Greenwich Park.

(Waugh's House)

(McCartney House)

(The Rangers House)

Greenwich Park itself is nice enough for a walk (or jog as many people seem to do). A fine place for trees as it has some very old ones, including this sweet chestnut from the 1660s, looking its age to be fair

but with many others too. So for dendrophiles amongst you not shocked by naked trees....

And the park has its fair share of wildlife (given the urban surroundings) with ubiquitous grey squirrels (of course) interesting ducks (I think these may be pochards but stand to be corrected) and even a forlorn little deer park behind a series of wire fences.

But why do most people visit the park from afar? Well firstly the venerable Royal Observatory

Then the views across London, mostly to Canary Wharf and the Millennium dome, but also of course to the Royal Naval College and Queens House below, which make an interesting contrast of old and new.

 All overlooked by the statue of General Wolfe, given a spot of real prominence.

Exiting the park to the East one comes across Vanburgh's House, a mix of turrets and battlements for a Georgian gentleman (the Architect Sir John Vanburgh, built for him when appointed as architect to Greenwich Hospital).

Coming down the hill you eventually reach riverside, which is itself an interesting spot with old pubs like the Cutty Sark and the Trafalgar, atmospheric little lanes and good views across the river itself.

And then you get to the main event, The Royal Naval College and Queens House. This looks like a palace complex, and that's what was originally intended. The Queens House came first, then the larger buildings that surrounded it became Greenwich Hospital, a Royal hospital for wounded seamen (the naval equivalent of Chelsea hospital), which then got taken over as the Royal Naval College. The college moved out in the last century and its struggled to find a use since, now being split between the National Maritime Museum and Greenwich University. I will need another trip to visit the Museum, but I did enjoy the Queens House with its collection of maritime related oil paintings. As you will note, perhaps owing to Christmas shopping, the place wasn't exactly overrun by visitors.

In the middle of the college (and like so much of London's wonders, free to enter if you only know its there) is the Painted Hall & Chapel. Once again we owe so much to the religious minds of our forefathers, who clearly felt that what wounded seamen would find most solace in is a massive decorated chapel and proceeded to build this magnificent edifice, rather than waste their money on food or care for the poor, who, as we are told, will always be with us. So something lavish and ever so slightly gay would be a better use of funds. And here it is today for us still to gawp at. Spectacular. Especially the ceiling and the Benjamin West altarpiece.

 As I say, one part of the complex is now turned into college buildings - you can just see the modern fittings through the old arch here.

 And the rest is turned over to National Maritime Museum.

Which also owns the Queen's House where its art collection is held. Which is worth seeing in its own right, but the House, built by James I (well rather by Inigo Jones) for Queen Anne of Denmark is rather more spectacular than its contents. I love the colonnades, the sweeping views, the fine marble floors and the staircases.

(Inigo Jones if you don't recognise him)

As it was turning dark I decided to head home rather than explore Greenwich market, with a couple of last shots before the light went.

And finally, as I was taking some photos close to the river, a slightly inebriated middle-aged couple clearly in love (sweet) asked me if I would take their photo. So here it is, random couple, your moment of fame.

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